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Zach laughed—sort of—and admitted, “They might as well have been. My eyes watered so much, I’d pop them out, and then I couldn’t really see much beyond arm’s length.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I know. It’s… I was self-conscious back then. I couldn’t seem to find a pair of glasses that didn’t make me look like Poindexter. So I kept trying to wear the contacts.”

He was about to add that it was funny Ben had never mentioned seeing Flint, but on reflection, no, it wasn’t really. Ben had always considered Flint a shady character. He wouldn’t have encouraged any social interaction, particularly between Zach and Flint.

Flint’s scowl turned scornful. “That’s the most—”

“Why would I lie?” Zach interrupted, and Flint fell silent. “There’s no reason I wouldn’t have said hi. Or nodded hello.”

Flint said a little grudgingly, “I kind of wondered why you seemed so stuck on yourself.”

Zach snorted. He found it amusing that Flint’s idea ofsaying hiwas a curt nod from a distance.

Flint seemed to decide to let bygones be bygones. He changed the subject with a brisk, “Okay, well, let’s meet back here at eleven thirty.”

“Synchronizing my watch,” Zach assured him gravely.

Flint shook his head, murmured, “Smart-ass,” but it seemed to be a compliment, and abruptly, unreasonably, Zach began to feel better. Certainly better than he had when he’d walked into Carey Confidential half an hour earlier.

Flint moved away from the desk, and Zach instinctively braced, but Flint was merely squeezing past as he retook his chair. Zach opened the door and slipped out into the cell-sized lobby. Arlisse nodded pleasantly. He nodded in return.

As he pushed out through the glass door into the damp morning air, he was uncomfortably aware of the tiniest sense of disappointment.

“How are you doing, kid?” Lt. Bill Cameron briskly ushered Zach into his office, nodding toward the hardback wooden chairs in front of his desk. “Hold my calls, Mona,” he called, then shut the door to his office.

“Coffee?” Cameron asked Zach.

“No. Thanks.”

At sixty, Cameron was a tall, lean, broad-shouldered man with iron-gray hair and piercing green eyes. He had been a smart and capable officer. He had also been charming and personable, and those traits had aided his rise through the ranks.

“How’s your mom doing? I’ve been meaning to give her a call.” Cameron took his seat behind the neatly organized desk.

“She’s okay.” Zach said, “She’s taking it one day at a time.”

“Sure,” Cameron said. “That’s all anybody can do. Well, give her my best when you see her.”

“I’ll do that.” Zach knew he would not, just as he knew why Bill Cameron hadn’t phoned. His mom had never forgiven Cameron for being on his duly earned vacation when his partner was shot on duty. Her bitterness had only increased as Cameron’s career had taken off and Fred’s world had—in her view—shrunk to Davies Detective Agency.

“So. How can I help you?”

“I think maybe I can help you. Up until this morning, I was working for Alton Beacher.”

Cameron had been absently tapping his pen on a legal pad. He stopped tapping and stared. “Working for Alton Beacher doing what?”

“He hired me to find out who was sending him death threats.”

“Death threats?”

“In the form of creepy toys and puzzles.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Cameron scowled. “Why the hell wouldn’t he come tous?”

Zach said carefully, “That was my first suggestion, but part of why I was hired was to pose as Beacher’s boyfriend while I conducted my investigation.”

Cameron blinked. “I think my hearing is going. Did you say…?”